


So Kiss Me (And Say You Understand)

by irisbleufic



Series: As Easy As Love 'Verse (& Related Indiscretions) [2]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Back to the Future: The Game
Genre: 1930s, Dancing, Drinking, Established Relationship, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Horny Teenagers, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Music, Intersex, Intersex Characer, M/M, Music, Musical References, Radio, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Science Husbands, Sex on Furniture, Smoking, Teenagers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swPn8E644sA">
    <i>I've tried to explain "Bei mir bist du schön" / so kiss me and say you understand</i>
  </a>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">[Falls between the September 5, 1938 section of <i>As Easy As Love</i> and the November 20, 1938 section of <i>What You Fight For</i>.]</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Kiss Me (And Say You Understand)

**Author's Note:**

> This piece falls _between_ the September 5, 1938 section of _AEAL_ and the November 20, 1938 section of _WYFF_. So much of this particular fic 'verse is defined by the songs crooning on radios in the background; I wanted to continue that feel such that I could go back and mine this series for a '30s-'40s playlist eventually if I wanted. I also wanted another addition from Emmett's POV; the series as it stands is pretty evenly split between Emmett-POV and Marty-POV sections, but Emmett's POV matters a _lot_ in this context. He comes across as such a stuffy prick in the game when you first meet him, but, as that exterior breaks down, you see what mischief and defiance he's capable of even as a young man. I actively sought the opportunity to play that up; likewise, I had a great time drawing some winking parallels between the scenario in this piece and a key scene from _BTTF: Part I_.

**September 30, 1938**

The basement storeroom was, as Emmett liked to think of it, practically his little secret. 

Not long after his father had arranged for him to be taken on in a minor clerical capacity at the courthouse, he'd been entrusted with a key-ring granting him access to twenty or so file rooms scattered throughout the building. He'd spent his first week on the premises speeding through his assigned work so that he could spend every spare moment, lunch-breaks included, trying out each and every key. Most were engraved with digits corresponding to the numbered plaques on the doors they happened to open, but there were three unlabeled skeleton keys so rusty and outdated that Emmett couldn't make heads or tails of what they were for. He'd all but given up hope until one of the three, tested on a lark for purposes of picking a rusty subterranean lock on what would surely reveal its door led to a Victorian-era janitorial closet, actually did its damn job.

The storeroom he'd discovered was cobwebbed, windowless, and crammed from wall-to-wall with spare furniture. There were three poplar desks, five bookshelves of various heights and wood-types, three decaying brocade-upholstered Rococo chairs, and one ornately-carved library table made of oak. Much to Emmett's disappointment, the bookshelves and desk-drawers had all been empty, but the library table had, from the moment he set eyes on it, proved a thing of exquisite beauty. Nineteenth-century knock-offs in Italian Renaissance style were nothing to be sniffed at; its green-man-carved trestle base and floral-adorned apron absolutely _begged_ dusting-off and polishing. Emmett had made an entire afternoon of pushing the desks and bookshelves to the far edges of the room, and he'd made the library table its centerpiece. He'd placed two of the three chairs at it, one on either side, and had placed the remaining one at the nearest desk.

He'd then proceeded to dust off his hands, retrieve the supposedly lost file he'd been sent in search of that morning, and casually, upon delivering the folder to his father's office, asked how many other copies of the keys on his ring existed around the building and who else, if _anyone else_ had access too them. His father had seemed impressed by his conscientious, security-concerned demeanor, and had gone through the keys one by one: the more contemporary ones all had duplicates that were in his keeping, and his alone, but the skeleton keys, at which he frowned and waved his hand, were as far as he knew one-offs that no longer had any use whatsoever.

Overjoyed and somewhat smug at having pulled one over on his old man, Emmett had spent the next few weeks cleaning the storeroom and customizing it to his liking. The single dangling lightbulb looked as if it were genuinely one of Edison's originals manufactured in 1880, so Emmett took painstaking care to restore the filaments. The first time it flickered to life when he hit the wall switch, he'd felt nothing less than the fiercest pride imaginable. He'd made something _work_.

He'd gone on to procure other amenities, because what good was a gentleman's study otherwise?

"Look, Emmett, are you _sure_ about this?" Marty hissed, bringing him back to the present.

"Positive," Emmett replied, setting the lantern down next to the ground-level window. They were behind the courthouse, under cover of darkness, and it was just past ten o'clock. His parents assumed they'd long gone to bed, and they'd be turning in by ten-thirty themselves. "I made sure to leave the latch undone before we left earlier. You were still upstairs in Father's office."

"I can't understand why the hell you'd want to be here after hours," Marty said with a shudder, watching Emmett push the window inward with a _creak_. "You hate this place, right?"

"Not nearly as much as I used to, at least since you came along," Emmett admitted with a grin, maneuvering himself into a sitting position, dropping through the window and down into pitch-black. "Hand me the lantern!" he called up to Marty. "And then come through! I'll catch you!"

"You think I'd have learned my lesson when it comes to sneaking out at night," Marty muttered, but he did as he was told. Once Emmett had the lantern in hand, he set it aside on the floor, holding out his arms as Marty pushed himself off the ledge with a gasp. Emmett caught him, staggering, not at _all_ displeased when Marty used the momentum to pin him against the wall. "Ah, thanks."

Emmett gave him a peck on the lips, pleased with how smoothly the maneuver had gone. "Onward," he said, sliding from between Marty and the cinderblocks at his back, fetching the lantern. He fished in his back pocket, producing the key-ring. "Thank goodness Father expects me to keep this on my person even outside of work hours. This wouldn't be possible otherwise."

"I still don't know why the hell we're down here," Marty sighed, following Emmett cautiously with his hands shoved in his pockets. "I've hardly ever wondered what's in these lower levels. Gives me the creeps."

"I've had a lot longer to familiarize myself with this building," Emmett said, approaching his storeroom door with the skeleton key in hand. "It has more than a few surprises, and I thought you might like this one." He opened the door, reaching to flip the light-switch. "Ta- _da_!"

"Jesus, _Emmett_ ," Marty said, watching Emmett set the lantern aside on the nearest desk. It added to the lightbulb's sedate orange glow, casting warm, hulking shadows around the space. "What is this room, anyway? Looks like you've got it all kitted out. Books, desks, chairs..."

"The furniture was here when I stumbled across it," Emmett admitted, "but it took some cleaning up and rearranging. The books weren't here; all of those are either mine or, as I'd like to think of it, borrowed from the city." He shut the door behind them, throwing the bolt for good measure. "I hold the only copy of this key, so, in the highly unlikely event somebody else is here, we're safe."

"Does this radio work?" Marty asked, pointing to the restored model on the desk that Emmett used for eating, reading, and working. "I can't imagine how you did this without someone noticing."

Emmett shrugged, heading over to join him next to the desk. He reached into the battered humidor he kept next to the table lighter he'd found in a pawn shop, drawing out a pair of Lucky Strikes. "I know you don't approve of my occasional indulgence," he said. "Would you like to try one?"

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Marty said, rushing over as Emmett got one of the two cigarettes lit and stuck it between his lips. "You're not afraid that's gonna start a fire or something?" His eyes lingered on Emmett's face, growing glassier by the second as Emmett's smile widened. "I, uh..." He took the remaining cigarette from between Emmett's index and middle finger, sticking it between his lips with an air of charmed defeat. "What the hell," he sighed, leaning forward, lighting his cigarette off Emmett's with an awkward inhalation. "You only... _live once_..."

Emmett couldn't help but laugh as intermittent coughing punctuated Marty's words. "They take some getting used to, I'll give you that," he said, contemplatively blowing smoke at the ceiling.

"I guess that answers my next question, which was gonna be why it smells like smoke in here," Marty sighed, studying the cigarette before taking another tentative drag. "I'm not sure I like this. It makes me feel kinda light-headed." He took a couple more drags before stubbing it out in the ash-tray, apparently satisfied that he'd mastered the technique. "Besides, I'd rather watch you do it."

Emmett stuck the cigarette back between his lips, clapping Marty on the shoulder. "I've got just the thing," he said, opening the lower desk-drawer, feeling around till he snagged the pair of heavy glasses he'd never yet had occasion to use. The decanter was dusty, its contents untouched.

Marty stared at him with approximately the same level of uneasy disapproval that picketing-and-leafleting zealot, Edna Strickland, would display if she could see him now. "What, you _drink_ too?"

"Not often, and not much," admitted Emmett, ruefully, filling both glasses with about two fingers' worth of the clear, astringent liquor. "This is gin. It's about all I can stand. Wine gives me a headache after just one glass, and it's best not to dwell on what happened the one time Father gave me a shot of bourbon. Mother gave me a half-glass of sherry last Christmas. I slept well, I guess."

Marty shrugged, the worried set of his lips melting into a grin as he took one of the glasses. "Bottoms up," he said, downing half of the stuff with a grimace. " _You're_ full of surprises."

Emmett stubbed out what little was left of his cigarette, dropping it in the ash-tray. He took the remaining glass and clinked it against Marty's, taking several gulps to catch up. "To us."

"To not getting goddamn _caught_ ," Marty amended, finishing the rest of what was in his glass, suddenly giddy. He briefly lost his balance, so Emmett steadied him. "But, yeah. Us."

Emmett swallowed, the tone having turned in the direction he'd hoped it would far sooner than he'd planned, and tossed back the rest of his gin. He set both glasses aside, stoppered the decanter, and let Marty lean more heavily into him. "I'm tired of having to worry," he admitted, sliding his arm more fully around Marty's waist, tugging him in till they were hip-to-hip, "about how much noise we make at the house." He kissed Marty deeply, dizzy with the alcohol. "This seemed..."

"Like an appropriate solution?" Marty supplied, grinning. "You know how to show a guy a good time, don't you?" He wound his arms around Emmett's neck. "What's next? For all I know, you keep a lounge singer on retainer down here. Although I bet Trixie—er, _Sylvia_ —said no."

Without taking his eyes off Marty's flushed, beautiful face, Emmett reached sideways and flipped the radio dials with ease of habit. "Sadly, we'll have to make do with public broadcasting."

 _I could say "Bella, bella"—even "Sehr wunderbar,"_ crooned the Andrews Sisters as Marty listened intently, closing his eyes and tilting his head till it rested against Emmett's shoulder. _Each language only helps me tell you how grand you are. I've tried to explain "Bei mir bist du schön," so kiss me and say you understand._ He hummed, swaying a little to the music.

"I held out hope those dancing lessons mother gave me would have _some_ use," Emmett murmured, steering Marty away from the desk with sure, practiced steps. He hadn't planned the dancing, either, but Marty just made improvisation so _effortless_. "I love this song."

"Yeah, me too," Marty replied, only faltering slightly as Emmett led. He fell into step as if he'd been shown how to do this a long time ago, and only his body remembered. "I used to—" Marty's voice tightened, faded to nothingness. "Dance with my grandma," he said. "When I was small."

"I'm glad you have _some_ memories of your family," Emmett said softly, brushing Marty's cheek, completely entranced by the blush his fingertips elicited. "You must treasure them."

"Oh, I do," Marty said, closing his eyes, and for a moment Emmett feared he'd gone too far. "Memories are all I've got, you know?" He opened them again, his expression unguarded.

"Inasmuch as they're a pain in the backside," Emmett said, trying to lighten the mood, "I can't _imagine_ losing Mother and Father. For all we're at odds, they're the only reason my life's been at all bearable." He bit his lip as Marty's sad eyes shone brighter. "And now there's you."

"Fuck _everybody_ , Emmett," said Marty, vehemently, pressing a kiss against Emmett's throat as the song wound to a finish, bringing them to an awkward halt as a news bulletin picked up in its wake. "Yeah, look, I know that word kinda shocks you, but don't pretend you're not gonna whisper that in my ear sometime just to drive me wild. I really mean it. The world blows. If they can't accept somebody as brilliant as you all because of _who you are_ , screw 'em."

"Your colorful vocabulary is, I think," Emmett said, running his finger from Marty's cheek down the side of his neck and on to the hollow of his throat, " _just_ what the doctor ordered."

"Yeah, if you're the Doc in question," said Marty, absently, his focus shifting from Emmett's touch to the radio's chatter. "Wait, did I _hear_ that right? Chamberlain, Daladier, and Mussolini _gave_ Hitler the Sudetenland this morning? No fuss, just a meeting and, bam, deal's done?"

"They're trying to avoid war at all costs," said Emmett, darkly, "and I _don't_ blame them."

"Yeah, but what about all those people who now have to put up with a murdering douchebag for a leader?" Marty demanded, looking far more frightened than Emmett could fathom. "I, _ah_. I mean—look, you've heard the reports. Shit's getting violent over there. And I guess the United States and Britain have decided they're not taking any more Jewish refugees, so—"

"You don't have to tell me why it's a bad situation, Marty," said Emmett, tersely. "My family _knows_. We're not Jewish, but we had to change our name just to avoid persecution."

"I know," Marty sighed, leaning dejectedly into Emmett. "I'm sorry, God, do _I_ know."

"What can I do to make you forget?" Emmett whispered against Marty's right temple, kissing the spot with absolute reverence. "Or, if not forget, at least take your mind off it for a while?"

"Kiss me," breathed Marty, tightening his arms around Emmett, "and that's just for starters." He nuzzled Emmett's jawline, and then caught Emmett's earlobe between his teeth before soothing the sting. "Your surgery's November fifth. That kinda cuts down on the time I can, uh..."

"You're not doing anything to me, not just yet," Emmett corrected Marty, reluctantly spinning him around so he could guide him over to one of the chairs at the library table. He kissed Marty again, taking his time about it, until Marty felt loose and pliant in his embrace. He pushed Marty down in the chair, shoving the table back just far enough that he'd have room to kneel with his elbows resting on Marty's knees. He unbuttoned Marty's waistcoat, gauging Marty's desire-hazed glance, taking his time about tugging Marty's shirt out of his trousers before unbuttoning _those_ , too.

"You're the...boss tonight," Marty said, settling back into the chair, his breath already high and shallow. He spread his legs a bit more, didn't even need coaxing to lift his hips once Emmett got to tugging down his trousers and underwear in one go. "It's, uh, probably good we didn't drink more, because..." He swallowed, giving his growing erection a few strokes. "Maybe if _you_..."

"Gladly," Emmett said, gently taking over for him with both hands. He leaned up and gave Marty another slow, measured kiss, sucking on Marty's lower lip. He cupped Marty's balls with his left hand, stroking and tugging Marty's shaft with his right. The pattern was one he'd worked out over the course of twenty-five days since they'd first made love, light caresses interspersed with sharp interjections, occasionally letting go lightly graze his knuckles along the underside. He leaned back up and pressed his mouth against Marty's ear this time, breathing hotly. "How's that?" he asked.

"I'm gonna come if you don't change it up," Marty whimpered, clutching at Emmett's forearms.

"Oh, I want you to come," Emmett sighed, burying his face against Marty's neck. " _Mmm._ "

" _Fuck_ ," Marty hissed, bucking far enough forward that Emmett couldn't resist letting go of him so he could hitch Marty in tight, wrapping Marty's legs around his waist. "I was kinda hoping you would, _um_ —" Marty groaned, helplessly squirming, but then went still. "Suck me?"

"I can do that if you're not going to..." Emmett brushed at Marty's hair, gave his forehead a quick kiss, and tipped him right back into the chair. "I guess this'll spare my clothes, wasn't thinking," Emmett muttered apologetically, brushing at the ghost of a damp spot Marty had left on his shirt. He loved Marty's general inability to hold back once orgasm was too close for comfort, although he was getting better at it. Emmett didn't waste any time getting Marty's cock in his mouth, because at this rate it was a miracle Marty had even stopped long enough to articulate what he wanted.

"God," Marty whispered, raking his fingers through Emmett's hair. Emmett couldn't see his face, but about then was when the lip-biting and clipped moans usually set in. "I love you," he said, his voice cracking a little, so Emmett swallowed around Marty's length before backing off a little to just suck at the head for all he was worth and look Marty in the eyes. "So much. _So_ so much, like I can't really—even _tell_ you, I— _Emmett_. I'm. Fuck, sorry. _Fuck_."

It wasn't quite the screaming Emmett knew Marty was capable of, but, under the circumstances, it was somehow even better to watch him shudder so breathlessly the only sound he got out after that was a choked rasp. Emmett swallowed the first few pulses, deciding those taste-tests he'd conducted to Marty's dismay the week before had been worth the time. Marty covered his face and mumbled something before letting his hands drop shakily back into Emmett's hair, threading his fingers through with abandon. Emmett pulled off and tried to catch the last of it in his palm, working Marty carefully through the aftershocks with his other hand. Different from his own physical reactions in that there wasn't quite the same mess factor, but it was no less thrilling.

"You gotta warn me next time," Marty panted, touching Emmett's cheek as Emmett methodically removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off his mouth and hands in neat succession. "Where'd you learn to swallow like that? Or did you just think, hey, there's no time like the present?"

"I'd already established I don't mind how you taste," Emmett explained, setting his wadded-up handkerchief aside on the floor, and then shifted from where he knelt up and onto the edge of the library table. His knees ached a little, and he'd gotten turned-on enough in the process of seeing to Marty that his dick had been rubbing pleasurably against his underthings every time he'd shifted his position a little to try something different on Marty. He was wet, too. _Unbelievably_ so. "I decided it was worth the risk of choking to find out. Maybe next time I'll manage all of it?"

Marty gaped at him, still trying to catch his breath, halfheartedly tugging his trousers back up. He made no move to fasten any of his clothing, however, beyond tucking himself away with a hypersensitive gasp. "Well, I guess that's one way of doing it," he said, scooting forward in the chair, rubbing his palms off on his trouser-legs. He set his hands on Emmett's knees. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Emmett replied, grinning at him, unbuttoning his waistcoat before Marty could beat him to it. He set his hands back on the edge of the table for balance, letting Marty take over with the unbuttoning of his shirt. The wood was smooth beneath his palms, well-worn, too beautiful for any of the uses to which it had been put—except for _this_. His appreciation of aesthetic beauty, it turned out, extended so far as fantasizing about what he'd do with Marty on his favorite pieces of furniture, and it just so happened that not all of said pieces of furniture were in his parents' house. "I think you'll find most of the work's already been done for you, so you can get—" Emmett sucked in his breath, taking in Marty's smugly triumphant expression as he got his hand far enough down Emmett's underwear to discover just what a state he was in. " _Ah_. Down to business."

"Heaven knows business is all you think about when we're here," Marty said, his voice tantalizingly rough, leaning up to catch Emmett's mouth in a bruising kiss. "Take your shoes off. Socks off. Pants off," he murmured when they parted for breath. "Underwear off, although maybe I should have you sit on those so you don't get any splinters. Are you sure you don't wanna sit in the chair?"

" _Positive_ ," Emmett replied, scrambling to follow Marty's instructions. Marty really got off on partial states of undress, too, so Emmett wasn't about to complain. It didn't even matter that Marty had already technically gotten off; if this turned into a night of the let's-see-how-many-rounds-we-can-manage variety, Emmett would be _thrilled_. He took Marty's suggestion of using his underwear as a place-mat. Inasmuch as he'd like to think he'd polished and waxed the table to perfection, it probably wasn't worth the risk. "How's that?" he asked, guiding Marty's hands back to his thighs, drawing them up till they molded against his hipbones. "Like what you see?"

"Yeah, that's some nice woodwork," Marty said, caressing him, "and you're not half-bad, either."

"I can't _believe_ you," said Emmett, with mock-disappointment. "You're lucky I agree, at least as far as the workmanship is concerned." He lifted one hand from the edge of the table, rubbing at one of his nipples with a sigh before letting his fingers trail down to his bellybutton. "Are you going to get some improv started, or am I going to have to show you exactly what I want?" He watched Marty's eyes, perceiving a faint, questioning flash of concern. "Marty?"

"If there's something specific, Doc, I'm all ears," said Marty, blushing to the roots of his hair when he realized he'd indulged yet _again_ in that mystifying pet-name that never failed to make Emmett's heart skip a beat. He trailed one hand from Emmett's hip down to rest over Emmett's cock, palming it gently. "Jesus, you're _hard_." He smirked. "Is it me, or is it the table?"

"Oh, for the love of—" Emmett managed a breathy laugh, but it caught on a gasp when Marty's fist closed around him. "Well, if you insist on a demonstration," he continued, using his left hand to angle Marty's wrist such that he could keep on tugging at Emmett while Emmett's right hand dipped lower, fingers easily navigating his slick entrance, "I think I'd like more than your tongue for once."

When Marty realized Emmett had worked two fingers inside himself without hesitation, he looked more than slightly floored. "Have I mentioned lately that you do _not_ pull any punches?"

"Comes with the territory," Emmett pointed out, withdrawing his fingers, and then pulled Marty's right hand off his cock even though he'd been thoroughly enjoying the attention. "If not even the doctors are sure what's going on, then I'd better make damned sure _I_ know," he said, guiding Marty's hand into the same position his own had previously occupied. "You can, well, use your mouth otherwise," Emmett explained, using his free hand to stroke the back of Marty's head.

"Sign me up," Marty mumbled, taking Emmett between his lips in no time at all. He was hesitant about the fingering to an almost irritating degree; Emmett had to keep hold of his wrist and keep tugging, insistent, stopping his fingers just shy of where the discomfort would start if Marty's fingers were to slip in further. He gasped when Marty hooked them slightly, pressing upward; no prostate for consideration, not here, but he knew that's the principle Marty was probably applying. What was stunning about it, he supposed, was that there _was something_. Marty sucked harder and faster in response, making a startled sound at the back of his throat.

"That's... _new_ ," Emmett managed, squeezing his eyes shut, using the one hand he had left against the table for leverage, thrusting up slightly in time to Marty's impressively coordinated fingers and mouth. "Well, I mean— _new_ is an illogical thing to say, because my body's had everything it has since the—beginning, _but_ —" He felt the mounting tension in him peak almost _unbearably_ , forcing all the breath out of his lungs. "Marty, I think— _fuck_!"

Marty only kept sucking him for another few seconds, because Emmett's inarticulate, strangled moan meant that he couldn't say he needed to be caught before he fell backwards and did his shoulders and neck some _serious_ damage, but Marty _knew_. "Hey, hey," Marty whispered, still applying that absolutely _blissful_ internal pressure, sliding his left arm up Emmett's back, splaying his palm and fingers between Emmett's shoulder blades, without skipping a beat. "What the hell was— _is_ —wow," he said, withdrawing his fingers when Emmett gasped and twitched, wrapping both arms tight around him. "That's...that's intense, are you..."

"I'm..." Emmett melted into Marty, wrapping all four limbs around him, an exact mirror of their position nearly ten or fifteen minutes before. "I'm _done_ for. And want to do that again."

Marty laughed, the vibration passing between them as sweetly the sound fell on Emmett's ears. "If this was one of your surprise experiment set-ups," he said, ruffling Emmett's hair, "it _worked_."

"Sneaking out was the only part of it I'd actually planned," Emmett admitted. "That and the table."


End file.
